Cellar Door

CELLAR DOOR

Published by John Northern at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 by John Northern

All rights reserved

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter 1

The black night was closing in like an ominous hand of death, ready to squeeze the life out of Michelle and her brother David. Damn, she thought. I've got to get out of this black mood.

Every three months Michelle would remove the money from the safe in her office in Grand Canyon Village and drive to Williams, Arizona to make a deposit in her credit union. It occurred to her she should do it once a month, but she didn’t like the long drive on that narrow and dark, two-lane highway, and she didn’t like spending the night away from her restaurant and lodge. Besides she had insurance, in case a thief broke into her safe and stole the money. The insurance was damned expensive, but it allowed her to travel less frequently.

David, her brother, raised the back hatch of Michelle’s SUV and put the suitcases on the floor, and then he went around to the passenger’s side and got in.

Before Michelle opened the front, driver’s side door, she glanced in the backseat to check on the money bag. It had a large, bright-yellow ribbon tied in a bow on the handle. As she examined it, it reminded her of her last vacation to Hawaii. The money bag wasn’t like the heavy, canvas bags used in armored cars or banks. Actually, it was a large suitcase with wheels and a handle for pulling through airport terminals. She only thought of it as a money bag, because when she wasn’t using it for travel, she was using it to transport money. She had placed a yellow ribbon on the handle so it would be easier to spot on the luggage carousel (a trick utilized by many airline travelers). Michelle got in and put the key in the ignition. Tonight she could feel something coming. Intuition wasn't her strong point, but this was overwhelming.

David leaned back, and said, I'll be glad when we get there. I can already see myself eating a hot meal and taking a bath.

Yeah, agreed Michelle, that'll be nice. She shut the car door and started the engine. She pulled out of her driveway and drove down the block and turned onto South Entrance Road. She passed Park Headquarters and made her way to Market Plaza Road. As they rode along she noticed only a few people strolling the streets in the dark of the night. During the peak season the population of Grand Canyon Village would swell to five or six thousand—twice the population of the village, but that was because of all the campsites. During the off-season the town dried up like a lonely, old-western ghost town with no lights turned on, except for the few lamp posts shedding a small light on the walkways, and the hotel, motel, and lodge lights beckoning weary traveler to stop for the night.

This particular evening they were leaving later than usual because some teenagers had trashed one of her motel rooms. When the maid entered the room to make the beds and vacuum the floors, she found a hole in one of the walls, a leg broken off one of the end tables, a broken mirror in the bathroom, one of the mattresses saturated with beer, and beer bottles almost everywhere—even in the toilet. Michelle had to file a report with the rangers, which put her and David on the road an hour and a half behind schedule.

The sun had gone down and blackness crowded out the daylight. The feeling of impending doom was still there.

Michelle turned onto highway 64 and slowly increased her speed to fifty-five. I believe that, most of the time, intuitions are just ridiculous imaginings brought forth by the mind. But tonight I have a really bad feeling.

Michelle turned and watched David as he responded, The last time we went to Williams you had the same bad feeling. Remember? He didn’t wait for her to answer, he said, Tonight I’m sure you’re in a bad frame of mind because of what happened to your motel room.

Michelle concentrated on the road. Normally I would agree with you, but this feeling is too strong.

With a voice of indifference David said, It's the motel room incident and the fact that you don’t like driving at night. And that’s all. Nothing bad is going to happen to us. It never does when we drive to Williams. And then as a continued thought, he asked, Hell, when can you remember any of your bad feelings coming true?

Michelle pondered for a moment then said, Never, and you’re right—I don’t like driving at night. The darkness brings out the sinister. Everyone dreads the black of night. When I was in college I took an anthropology course, and I remember reading about a tribe in South America who have different names for the same animal—a daylight name and a night time name. They know that animals are different when the sun goes down. Some go into hiding and some become stalkers of the night. Even black widow spiders won’t come out until night to hunt their prey. She paused, and then continued to discuss her feeling. But simply because I don’t like driving at night doesn’t mean that my intuition is incorrect.

David simply sighed, I've never heard you talk like this. Maybe we should have stayed home and come a different day. In fact, we could spend the night at home and leave in the morning.

She shook her head. No, she said, I have to get this money in the bank. Michelle was not a person who would put off until tomorrow what she could do today. Plus, they were already on the road.

David laughed. Well Miss gloomy puss, stop thinking negative, and let’s talk about something a little more pleasant. So far you’re not the best traveling companion.

Fine, she said. She decided to think about something more amiable. But as she became silent, her thoughts crept back to the blackness that surrounded them. The moon hadn’t risen, and when it did it would only be a thumbnail giving off virtually no light on the lone highway with the dark forest on both sides. Only the headlights would produce luminosity like flashlights in a huge, pitch-black tunnel.

What I hate most about driving at night are the ever-bounding deer. They don’t come out much during the day, but at night they travel their paths, and they frequently cross the highway. Three times last summer an unsuspecting tourist hit a deer, killing the animal and damaging the vehicles. One of the tourists was traveling too fast and he was killed. Michelle shook her head—a habit she had acquired a long time ago when she was thinking thoughts she didn’t like. It was almost a shudder.

David changed the subject. Michelle, he said, have you heard about the new S car? It’s similar to the smart car made by Mercedes Benz, except it’s made in France. One of the problems with the S car has been its top speed and acceleration. For most drivers it’s too slow. But one enterprising young man bought an S car and supped it up—fuel injection, oversized pistons, and so on. One day two pedestrians in Paris were standing on a corner getting ready to cross the street. They turned both ways and saw nothing coming, except an S car. The husband had heard how slow S cars were, so he figured they had plenty of time to get to the other side of the street. He took his wife’s hand and started to step off the corner, but the kid with his supped up S car went past them so fast that the wind almost knocked them over. When the husband regained his balance he said to his wife, 'Wow, watch that S car go.'

It took Michelle a second to understand the joke, but then she laughed and said, Okay, I get it. You want me to lighten up.

That would be nice, responded David.

I’ll try.

About three miles from town they came to an ‘S’ hairpin bend with a posted speed limit of 15 mph. Michelle slowed the SUV and peered intently ahead—watching for anything that might be coming out of the dark forest. She couldn’t help being negative—the feeling was too strong. And then suddenly she felt that whatever was coming—was coming now. She gripped the steering wheel and a frown etched her face. She didn't say anything, because her brother would once again make fun of her. But was she right?

She was only part way around the first bend when, from the corner of her eye, she saw something in the side-view mirror. It was running along the edge of the forest about twenty-five yards behind them. She couldn’t see its face or what kind of an animal it was, but it appeared to be running on all fours—loping—long strides, to catch up. It appeared to be chasing her. It followed along for less than fifteen seconds, and then it disappeared from the faint light of the stars and into the dark shadows.

I just saw something.

David suppressed a fake yawn. Where? he asked with a lack of concern.

Behind us. It was running along the side of the forest. I don’t know what it was, but it seemed to be matching our speed.

Probably just a deer, said David.

Probably, she agreed. She let out a sigh. She rolled down the driver’s side window and let the cool October air wash over her face. In spite of the feeling, she was certain they would never be in any real danger. Why would they? Bears and mountain lions rarely attacked humans anywhere in the world, let alone the Grand Canyon National Park. And even if one was so viciously hungry that it had to attack, it would not be able to get into her SUV.

She shook her head. Her thoughts kept going this way and that. She wanted it to stop. She was starting to feel like a little girl afraid of the monsters in her closet. She understood that many people were afraid in the black of the night. She understood that morbid thoughts were more likely at night time, when the unknown could be lurking just around the corner. She remembered that her grandmother always slept with a light on in the bedroom. Nevertheless, she wanted to stop thinking darkly. The odds that her morbid thoughts would become a reality were nearly nil. Most absurd.

She concentrated on the highway. They would be in Williams in a few hours, and then in the morning, she would make her deposit. And, fortunately, they would be driving back in the daylight.

She decided to ask David to tell another joke—but suddenly, something left the shadows of the trees and ran with great speed toward the SUV.

She turned her head and saw a large buck, with a huge rack, running straight for the driver’s side window. Because of the darkness with only the light from her headlights shining ahead, she doubted what she was seeing. It wasn't possible. Deer aren’t like dogs. They don't run after cars!

Should she be frightened? She wasn't sure, but nevertheless, she speeded up taking the hairpin turn a little faster than she should have.

Whoa, said David. Don’t you think you should slow down a little? He stared over the edge of the embankment. You’re getting a little too close to a long drop. He gazed at her and saw the expression on her face. What’s the matter? he asked.

She was too busy watching the buck in her side view mirror to answer. She was too busy trying to stave off panic.

Fighting the centrifugal force, the SUV rose up on the driver’s side and the tires on the passenger’s side squealed against the pavement as they pressed down and shot ahead.

And then a peculiar thing happened—the buck caught up and matched her speed. He continued to stride no faster and no slower than her vehicle. He was running right beside her. She could hear his hooves clacking on the pavement with the rhythm of a drummer. She rolled up the window.

David saw the buck running alongside the SUV. Damn, he said, I've never seen a deer do that before.

Michelle realized that David was taking the situation a lot more calmly than she was. There was no doubt about it—she was frightened. What the hell was happening? This was absurd. She turned her head and stared at the buck, and he glared back. And then the buck did the strangest thing—he nodded his head, with the huge rack of antlers, to the right.

Suddenly, Michelle was no longer frightened. She was mystified. What the hell did this buck want? David, did you see that? Tell me you saw that.

David wasn’t going to admit to anything. You tell me first, he said with a bit of disconcertedness in his voice.

The buck is nodding his head to the right. What does he want?

With no fluster in his voice David said, I believe he wants you to pull over.

This is not happening, said Michelle. The only reason she wasn‘t panicking was because David was being calm. She slammed on her brakes. The buck ran several yards ahead, stopped, and started back. When it was close to her window, Michelle stepped on the gas and the SUV shot ahead with tires burning rubber.

Now, fear clutched her mind like a vice grip squeezing out rationality. A deep, foreboding-darkness came over her. She had no doubt that she was sane. She wasn’t hallucinating. It wasn’t the stress from the events earlier in the day. No! You can tell when you’re awake and not dreaming. This animal had actually been running alongside the car nodding his head. Aren’t you frightened? she asked.

I have to admit that it’s a bit disturbing, but more than anything I’m trying to figure out what’s happening, and how it’s possible. Everything that happens has an explanation.

So, now you’re going to get philosophical?

I don’t know if it’s philosophical. I just know that there’s a reason for everything, which means there’s a reason that this buck is running alongside the car signaling you to pull over.

Well it scares the hell out of me.

With no excitement in his voice, David asked, Why? There’s nothing it can do to hurt us.

That’s not the point. In real life this doesn’t happen.

Michelle didn’t care what David thought. She wanted to step on the accelerator, but she was already going as fast as she dared around the bend in the road. Any faster and she would surely slide off and down the steep embankment. The tires of her SUV were perilously close to the edge of the black top. She held her speed. He’s catching up, she said in a state of near panic.

The buck ran up beside the SUV and once again glared at her through the window. He nodded his head again.

It’s still nodding, she said.

David watched the buck. Yeah, maybe we better turn around and go home. And when we get there I will apologize, and I will never doubt your feelings again.

Michelle didn’t need to be convinced to turn around and go home. She said, As soon as I find a place to make a U turn, that’s exactly what we’re going to do.

Without knowing it, the fear forced her to step a little harder on the gas peddle. The car leaned more to the right. The tires slid off the pavement and shot gravel into the air. For a moment she lost control as the SUV fish-tailed, but then she regained it and brought the tires back onto the pavement. The SUV shot ahead of the buck.

Whoa, yelled David, that was a little too exciting.

Yeah, she agreed. She slowed down. She rounded the bend and started the next bend in the ‘S.’ Once she got out of these turns she would be able to turn around.

She continued to take the bend faster than what was safe, which should have been more frightening than the mysterious buck.

The buck caught up and continued to follow—continued to stare at her—continued nodding his head. But after a few moments it increased its speed and ran ahead of the SUV. Then, just as Michelle was coming out of the hairpin turn, the buck did the unexpected. It turned and ran in front of her car.

The buck stopped.

David yelled.

Michelle acted on instinct. She slammed on her brakes and pulled the steering wheel hard to the right. Even with her quick reactions it wasn’t enough to keep from hitting the buck.

The sound of the antilock brakes was like a loud machine gun as they quickly shifted into an off-and-on mode. And then, as the adrenaline kicked in and her mind sped up, she felt like a spectator in a slow motion movie. The buck went flying slowly through the air, and the SUV careened off the road, and flew lazily through space to the bottom of the ditch, twenty feet below.

The slow motion stopped. Just before impact, as if to stop what was coming, she gripped the steering wheel tight, maybe too tight. And then the front end of the car imploded as it met with an immovable object. A horrendous shock coursed through her body. The airbags exploded into her face and chest. She felt a burning pain on her forehead and left cheek. The material was covering her mouth and nose. She felt like she was suffocating. With her upper body she leaned heavily against the airbag trying to push it away. She reached the handle of the door and pulled on it. The door wouldn’t open. She shouldered it—once, twice, three times. Finally it creaked open a couple of inches. She gave it one final shove, and as the door flung open, she fell out of the car landing on the cold, frozen ground.

She could see that one of the headlights still shown brightly against the side of the ditch providing a small amount of eerie luminosity to the surrounding area.

David, she yelled, are you alright?

There was no answer. She closed her eyes and lay on the ground for several seconds allowing the shock to wear off. Her heart, which had been hammering like a carpenter on speed, began to slow down. Finally, after what seemed forever, she opened her eyes and pushed herself off the ground. She stood up.

Steam was rising from beneath a crumpled hood, and she thought she could smell gas. There would be no sense in trying to back this car out of the ditch. It would have to be winched up to the highway and towed to the nearest mechanic and body shop.

Twenty feet away the huge buck lay on his side in the frozen ditch. Blood was oozing from his mouth. His torso was twitching. His legs were kicking spasmodically. She realized he would not survive. God, she thought, he actually jumped in front of my car! He purposely died trying to stop me. This is not only impossible, it's insane. Now that it was over, even though it was over by only a minute or two, she began to doubt her interpretation of the event.

She scrambled around to the other side of the car. She grabbed the handle of the passenger side door. She pulled—nothing. She pulled again—harder. This time the door creaked open with the sound of metal on metal. Using all her strength she was able to get the door open. She immediately noted that David’s airbag hadn’t inflated. The windshield was cracked. She was hoping it was from the impact and not from David’s head. Oh, God, she thought. She could see blood coming from his scalp at the top of his forehead. She grasped his wrist. She could feel a weak pulse. She let out a sigh of relief. She undid his seatbelt and pulled him from the car. The smell of gas was getting stronger. She had to get him away from the SUV. She tried to pull him up the incline, but suddenly a sharp pain stabbed at her right forearm causing her to hold her breath. She came to a sudden halt. She reached with her left hand to explore. There was a large gash extending two inches from her elbow half way to her wrist. She whimpered in pain as she pushed against the bones. One of the bones in her forearm was broken. Blood was running down her arm and dripping from her fingertips. The broken bone had pierced the skin.

She took the scarf from around her neck and wrapped the wound. She realized she wouldn’t be able to pull him up the incline, so she pulled him down the ditch, away from the SUV—far enough that if the gas tank exploded it wouldn’t hurt him. She had to get to town and get help.

Using only her left hand to pull against the cold rocks, she started up the incline.

She was more than three quarters of the way to the highway when she remembered her purse and the money bag.

Oh, God, she thought. The idea of sliding back down the incline to a car leaking gas was not her idea of a wise thing to do; especially since she had a broken arm. But, even though it was possible that she could black out, the money was important for paying the payroll and buying supplies. She had to retrieve the money bag. She thought to herself, Buck up, damn it.

She went slowly, shaking her head from time to time to chase away the dizziness. Carefully she made it to the bottom of the ditch. She wrenched the driver’s side backdoor open. She felt around with her left hand and found the money bag on the other side of the backseat. She climbed in and pulled it out. She started to search for her purse when she smelled smoke. Damn, she thought. With the money bag in hand, she exited the car and as quickly as she could, she climbed to the highway pulling the bag behind her.

In a lot of pain, she finally reached her destination. Panting, she sat on the blacktop. She had to rest for a moment.

Just then the car caught on fire, and a few moments later there was a tremendous explosion. She ducked to the pavement and watched as fire, along with glass and metal, shot into the air. Flaming pieces of material landed on the forest floor and into the trees burning brightly. But there would be no forest fire that night—too damp and too cold. She peered down at David. Nothing had landed close to him.

The sound from the explosion, which was deafening, echoed throughout the forest alerting all the other bucks that she was there. Would they come for her and impale her with their sharp antlers?

The shock had partly worn off, and she was thinking more clearly. She had to get help. But she couldn’t wait for a car to come along. It could be hours. Actually, one might not come along at all. She was afraid that if she stopped moving she might go into shock and pass out. David needed help. He might have a concussion. She thought if she kept at a slow to medium pace she could keep the bleeding to a minimum. And she would be back in town in about half an hour. The fire department would find David and administer aid. They would call for a helicopter and have her and David air-lifted to the hospital in Flagstaff.

Slowly she stood up and, holding her right arm in front of her stomach, she started toward home pulling the money bag behind her. Even with David—a well respected University professor backing her story, she wouldn't be able to tell anyone what really happened. It was too insane. She would have to report that a buck ran out of the forest and in front of her car. Yeah, that's what she would have to do. Her arm ached like a bitch. Damn it! She yelled in her mind.

She continued her slow and suffering pace. She hadn’t gone more than fifty yards down the hairpin turn when she thought she saw something moving in the forest.

Oh, God, now what---another buck? She doubted it. She shook her head and continued toward the safety of her hometown. From time to time she would glance at the forest on the same side where she thought she saw something. Tall, dark pines crowded together and shot into the air. With only a modicum of light, from the cloudless, starry night, she could see nothing. She could hear nothing, except the rustle of the pines in the slight breeze.

She continued her trek down the highway. She hadn’t gone far when she saw something come out of the forest and run along the edge of the tree line. It was too dark to see it clearly, but by its shadowy form she could tell it was smaller than a deer, and it was fast. It darted between the trees and disappeared into the shadows.

Now—she was sure she was being stalked.

In the cold, evening air she began to perspire. She picked up her pace. She was hoping that a vehicle would come down the highway, and that someone would give her a ride out of this nightmare event.

The moon started to rise over the mountains, but it was only a thumbnail and added very little light to the surrounding forest.

She moved on, but she kept watching between the trees.

She heard a noise behind her and whirled around. Something ran across the highway, and then three more something's. They disappeared into the woods.

This is not right, she thought. Anger welled up inside of her like a boiling pot of blasphemous words. Her car had been destroyed. Her brother was injured—possibly dying. Her arm was broken—a compound fracture. And now something else was coming. It was too unbelievable. She had to do something to keep from going insane. She yelled out, What the hell is going on! Her voice shattered the icy air.

She kept moving forward.

She hadn’t gotten far before she heard intermittent, ululate wailing coming from the dark forest. It was long and slow. It sounded like the high-pitched voice of a wounded animal. It occurred to her that Death was coming.

The wailing stopped. She heard the snapping of twigs. Something was close. It wailed again. In her mind came a morbid idea, the buck has stopped me so something else can come for me. But this time there was truth to the idea.

She let go of the money bag, and, in spite of the pain in her arm, she began to run. With long strides she came to the second bend in the highway. Panting heavily, she turned and crossed to the inside shoulder.

Suddenly, ahead, she could make out a form standing in the middle of the highway. She came to a halt. In the gloom, with nothing but the star lights and the slight moon light, was silhouetted a figure, but she couldn’t make out what it was. Then off to the left appeared another figure. Then three more to the right. They came together in the middle of the highway. They started toward her—slow, at first.

The anger she was experiencing earlier disappeared into a black hole, and fear froze her mind. There was nowhere she could run that they couldn’t race her down. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and not from running.

Soon they began to growl, and then they were close enough that she could see they were wolves. The one coming up the highway was huge—almost the size of a small pony.

The others came in fast, and that’s when the large wolf turned on them and growled. It lunged and bit the closest one.

The smaller wolf howled in pain, then backed off. The other three stopped as the larger wolf turned and growled at them.

Then the larger wolf spun back to Michelle, and attacked so fast she didn’t have time to brace herself for the coming blow. He hit her in the chest with his paws and head. She was knocked to the pavement on her back. Her head hit the asphalt. She was stunned for a moment, and when the dizziness cleared, what she saw, looming above her, was a wolf with bared, large, gleaming fangs, and saliva dripping. He had his huge paw in the middle of her chest. He was growling a deep, throaty growl.

By instinct she reached up with her left forearm and put it in front of her throat. She had seen enough Nature documentaries to know that when wolves go for the kill, they go for the throat.

The wolf grabbed her forearm between his powerful jaws. He clamped down, and pain shot up her arm. She could hear the ripping of the fabric as he bit deeper and pulled.

She closed her eyes and tensed her muscles in anticipation. She was so intent on dying that she didn’t notice the headlights coming around the bend.

But the wolf noticed. He stopped growling. He took his paw from her chest and backed up.

When she opened her eyes she saw the other wolves running into the forest.

Her eyes quickly darted back to the large wolf. He glared at her for a second, and then he turned and ran to the money bag. He grabbed the handle in his powerful jaws and with a slow, laborious lope he disappeared into the forest.

Chapter 2

Why was he suddenly thinking about things other than the cartoons? He felt that something was making him think about other things. He pictured the large suitcase under his bed, which had a large, bright-yellow ribbon tied in a bow on the handle. The idea of it made him happy. He didn’t know why, but for certain his mind told him it was a good thing.

All of a sudden, with no notion as to why, he was thinking about murder as if it were a way of life which could solve problems or to make people pay for the sins they had committed. This thought in his mind confused him because he had always believed that murder was a bad thing. John Michael Williams, nick-named, Mikey, would never hurt a living person and everyone who had ever met Mikey was aware of his peaceful nature, including Mikey, and he certainly wouldn’t murder anyone—the very notion of it was horrifying. He loved people—most of them. He loved animals—all of them. And he wouldn’t even kill an insect—unless it was in or near the kitchen. His mother had told him it wasn’t good to have bugs in your food.

Mikey thought he was like most of the people in the whole world. All he wanted to do was work, which in this case was in his mother’s diner, have fun—mostly watching cartoons, and live a peaceful life. It was only politicians and crazy people who made war, in which people would kill each other. He had learned that in high school.

He and his mother, Darlene, and his brother, Chad, lived in a two story, American foursquare house in the mountains in Williams, Arizona, population 3,145.

But Mikey didn’t know about statistics or numbers. He didn’t know if he lived in a big city or a little city. It never occurred to him to care. He stopped thinking about other things and focused on the cartoons. He was sitting in the living room watching ‘Tom and Jerry’ on the cartoon network. The irritating mouse was being protected by a big bulldog. The persistent cat, which was always after the care-free mouse, was monster-mashed by a dog-fist in the chops, rolling him backward down the sidewalk. He hit a gumball machine catapulting the glass jar with all the gum high in the air. It came down on the cat’s head. Mikey jumped to his feet and roared with laughter. The cat pulled the jar off his head, and gumballs started shooting out of the cat’s mouth. Mikey slapped his thighs with his hands. His laughter was so consuming he could hardly catch his breath. The mouse had a big grin on his face—he was so happy, he did a little dance.

Suddenly there was a hateful voice from upstairs. It was his younger brother Chad. Shut up you moron. If I have to come down there, I’m going to beat the crap out of you!

Mikey sat down and laughed again, but quieter. He didn’t want to incur the wrath of his little brother.

He watched the cartoon. Today was a fun day. It was his day off from work. He loved Mondays and Tuesdays.

He was just getting back into the cartoon, with the big dog, the cat, and the mouse, when a bewildering happenstance occurred. An intense pain suddenly wracked his head. It was so unexpected and so fast. It scared him. He almost started to cry, but then the room started to spin. He popped off the couch like a jack-in-the-box. His eyes rolled back into his head. He grabbed his gut. He was feeling sick. It was so painful it made him want to scream. The only reason he didn’t was because of his little brother. He quickly forgot about Jerry, the antagonizing mouse. It was so startling. It was so fast. Before tears were able to form in his eyes, his vision blurred. He became woozy and the spinning continued. He leaned to one side. The aching pain pounded his head and shot through his temples. A wave of nausea passed through his intestines. He gagged. He bent over. He put one hand on the arm of the couch.

The wracking and hammering inside his head finally brought tears to his eyes. He had never experienced this kind of pain in all his life, at least, not that he could remember. He was frightened. He thought about his mother, because she would know what to do. She would certainly want him to be brave. Still in intense pain he wiped away the tears.

What could he do? He couldn’t ask Chad what to do, Chad would laugh at him.

And then, as fast as it came it was gone.

He continued to stand in a state of confusion. What had just happened? He wiped away the remaining tears. The cartoon became of little interest. In a strange manner he turned his head this way and that. Suddenly his mind was full of anger and hate. He studied the room. The TV was against the wall with the couch in the middle of the room facing it. To the left was a door leading to the kitchen. And next to the wall, separating the living room from the kitchen, was a baby grand piano—his mother loved to hear him play. How stupid, he thought. The front door to the house was across the room to the right, in the other wall. It faced the stairway that went to the second floor. Through the large plate glass window he could see the front porch and beyond that the front yard. There was a grey darkness shrouding the house. A light drizzle of rain fell upon the grass and covered it like a shiny-green, glass blanket.

He perused the surroundings for only a short minute, then he moved around the couch and crossed the floor to the stairway. He thought of Chad, and his anger increased. He crept up the stairs to the second story of the house. He stood there for a moment trying to decide where to go. It was as if he was studying his own house for the first time in his whole life. He had to get his bearings. He had to get the lay out. His room was the far door on the left, and his mother’s room was the near door on the left. And the nearest door on the right led to his brother’s room.

He was perplexed. Why was he angry and full of hate, and why did he come up the stairs? He should be watching cartoons—that silly mouse and that persistent cat. He loved cartoons.

He made his way down the hall to the first door on the left and entered his mother’s bedroom. He glanced out the window. It was October—and a gray, cloudy morning made his mother’s bedroom dark. The wind was blowing. Rain was lightly sprinkling from the black clouds overhead and pattering against the panes. Little rivulets of water inched down the window to the outside sill where they formed small puddles standing and reflecting dim light.

Mikey turned his attention to the nightstand next to his mother’s bed. His dark mood continued. It felt like there was a bad thing in his mind. He tried to grasp the bad thing, but couldn't. In his entire life he could not remember having a bad thing. It confused and frightened him. He felt like the bad thing was directing him. And once again the anger swelled to the surface.

Against his will he pulled open the drawer of his mother's nightstand. There on the bottom, half hidden under a box of Kleenex, lie his mother’s 9 mm Berretta capable of holding fifteen in the clip and one in the pipe—it was never loaded. His mother would never leave a loaded gun in the house within reach of Mikey.

How did he know that? He was suddenly knowing facts he had never known before—details he had never paid attention to—not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t.

When Mikey was four years old his parents noticed he wasn’t learning as fast as he should have been, so they took him into Flagstaff to a pediatrician, and then on a referral they took him to two different psychologists, and finally a year later they took him to a psychiatrist. After examinations and many tests the doctors concluded that Mikey was autistic, and later they determined his IQ was only a few points higher than that of a moron. How did he know this? How did he know he was an autistic savant?

Some autistic children become violent as they get older and need medication to keep them calm, to keep them from destroying furniture or windows, or from hurting or possibly killing people. Some of them have so much anger they have to be institutionalized. But Mikey was different. He was always happy and pleasant. The only time he was sad or would cry was when people were mean to him. But even then he would not become angry and hurtful. He never wanted revenge. It was not part of his personality.

He picked up the gun from the drawer and held it. He felt like he had been reunited with an old friend. He released the clip into his hand. He retrieved the box of bullets from the drawer and opened it revealing a full box of 9 mm hollow points. He loaded the clip.

And that’s when Mikey started thinking to himself—started thinking about events he had long forgotten. When we were young Chad was mean to me. When no one was around he would pinch me real hard, or come up behind me and yank my hair bringing tears to my eyes. Sometimes he would kick me in the butt and laugh,